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“The world works funny, doesn’t it? We could've never met at all,” Tatsuya muses aloud uncharacteristically, his speech low and drawling, the heat thick inside his head like layers of cotton batting. Jun is facing him, his breath skimming across Tatsuya's cheek and neck. Their skin is sticky where they’re touching—almost everywhere—from the soupy monsoon air, even with the fan on high. Its whirring and the chirping of the cicadas outside the open windows form a pleasant thrum that makes the night limp and heavy-eyed.
“No.” Jun shakes his head after a moment, eyes half-lidded. “I don’t think so.”
Tatsuya pulls him closer with the hand splayed on the small of his back, their noses bumping, and chuckles, “Why not?”
“If this were any other lifetime, I would have found you. I know I would have found you,” Jun answers with candor, smiling a tender smile.
Tatsuya isn’t the kind of person who believes in past lives or future ones, really isn’t the kind of person who believes in much of anything, but he can imagine (remember?) having heard Jun say the same thing a thousand times before, or hearing him say it a thousand times after, and as he brushes Jun’s sweaty hair back to press his lips to his forehead, he supposes it would sound as right every time he hears it as it does now.